


Always His Baby

by wordscorrupt



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Iron Dad, Parent Tony Stark, Sick Peter Parker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 03:41:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17052431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordscorrupt/pseuds/wordscorrupt
Summary: When Peter falls ill the with flu, Tony is there to take care of his son.





	Always His Baby

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Buckets_Of_Stars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buckets_Of_Stars/gifts).



> This was from a prompt received through Tumblr that asked: 
> 
> "CAN YOU WRITE ABOUT TONY FEEDING PETER NOW PLEASE??? Like the poor bby boy is sick and is shaking too much to lift his spoon so Tony has to scoop food into his mouth like a mamma bird and Peter is soooo worried about throwing up the whole time JUST UGH ITS SO SOFT PLEASE I AM BEGGING YOU 💖💖💖"

It’s not like the illness came out of nowhere. Midtown High School had sent a notice a week ago in the mail on how a large number of their students had fallen ill with the flu, followed by a list of symptoms that parents should watch out for and a reminder to keep their children home if any of the symptoms showed up.

Tony had skimmed through the letter before throwing it into the trash, not giving it a second thought. Peter had already received his flu shot, and plus after the spider-bite, his son hardly got sick anymore. There was no need to worry.

Or so he thought.

“Oh, kiddo,” Tony murmured, brushing the sweaty curls off his son’s forehead. He winced at the heat radiating from his son and reached over for the washcloth he had soaking in a bowl of cold water. He squeezed out the excess before gently draping it across his son’s forehead. 

Peter whimpered, kicking his bare feet around underneath the covers. Tony reached out and smoothed the blanket across his son’s legs, calming him down.

“You’re okay, kiddo. Just rest. Dad’s not going anywhere.”

Apparently, it was the words that Peter needed to hear as he fell into a deep slumber. Tony waited until he saw Peter’s chest rose and fell steadily, the wheezy yet deep breathing signaling to him that his son was finally asleep.

An hour ago it had been trouble getting Peter to stay awake up as Bruce checked him over. Then when Bruce had finally left after a diagnosis of the flu, followed by instructions on how to keep Peter rested, well fed and hydrated, it had been a struggle to get Peter back to sleep because each time he laid back down, he was forced into a coughing fit that left his chest aching.

After countless soft murmurs and loving words, gentle back and chest rubs, and just plain begging, Peter finally fell asleep and Tony could finally relax.

“Love you, baby,” Tony whispered, as he leaned over and pressed a kiss to Peter’s curls. He had half a mind to just curl up next to his son, but the last thing he needed was to catch this awful flu and be no longer fit to take care of his son. And Tony only ever trusted himself to take care of Peter.

So, he dejectedly walked over the sofa chair in the corner of the room and plopped down, resting his head against the back of the couch, letting his eyes rest.

Just for a minute, he thought to himself as sleep took a hold of him.

He woke up two hours later with a kink in his neck that had him wincing as he raised his head up. He grumbled, reaching a hand up to massage at his sour neck. He glanced over at his son, thankful that he was still sound asleep. But nevertheless, he would have to wake him soon up to help him eat. He had undoubtedly already lost some weight after not being able to keep anything down these past several days and Tony was not letting him lose anymore.

He pulled himself off the couch with a groan, cursing old age as his back cracked loudly in his attempt to straighten up. He shuffled over to Peter’s bed, leaning down to press a kiss to his son’s head and straightened out his blankets before heading out towards the kitchen.

About an hour later he strolled back into the room, a tray consisting of a bowl of steaming chicken noodle soup, a few crackers and a glass of orange juice in his hands. He set the tray carefully down on the night table before sitting down on the edge of the bed. He gently combed his fingers through his kid’s curls, before carefully shaking him awake.

“Peter, wake up, kiddo,” Tony murmured, watching as Peter’s eyes fluttered open before quickly shutting close.

“No, wanna s’eep,” Peter whined, moving away from his dad and turning onto his side and curling up, bring his knees to his chest.

“I know kiddo. You can after we get a little food in you.”

“No’ hun’ry,” Peter argued and Tony chuckled softly.

“Have to try a little bit for me, kiddo,” Tony pressed and Peter groaned softly. He turned around to glare at Tony and Tony could see the frustrated tears pooling up in Peter’s eyes.

“Oh, come on, baby,” Tony cooed, cupping Peter’s cheek, “There’s no need for crying. Come on, kiddo. Sit up for me, you’ll feel better.”

Tony grabbed Peter underneath his armpits and scooped him up gently into a sitting position. Peter just flopped over, leaning against his father, not having enough energy to keep himself upright.

“I got you, kiddo,” Tony promised, pressing a quick kiss to his son’s curls. He took the next few minutes to get him and his son situated correctly. In the end, Tony was sitting on the bed, leaning against the headboard with his son curled up on his lap, resting against his chest and sitting up enough that Tony could feed him without the risk of his son choking.

“Chi’en?” Peter wondered as his father reached over to grab the bowl from the tray.

Tony nodded, giving Peter a smile as he brought the soup closer. 

“You’re favorite,” Tony added as he swirled the soup around with the spoon before offering the utensil to his son.

Peter sighed and trembling fingers reached out for the spoon. Tony held the bowl for him as Peter attempted to spoon up some of the soup into his mouth, but only accomplished to splash half the soup onto the bed.

Peter let out a frustrated cry and if Tony didn’t grab a hold of the spoon, he might have flung it away from himself out of exasperation.

“S’rry, d’ddy,” Peter whined, pressing his face into his dad’s chest, as he watched Tony spoon up some of the chicken soup, feeling pathetic that he was too sick to do it himself.

“Nothing to be sorry for, baby,” Tony replied back, carefully bringing the spoon up to Peter’s lips. Peter hesitantly sipped at the soup, scared it was going to be a repeat of the vomit-fest from the last time he tried to eat anything.

“How is it, buddy?” Tony asked as he plunged the spoon back into the bowl to scoop up some more.

“Y’mmy.”

“Of course it is. Your dad is amazing at everything,” Tony countered, earning him a soft jab in the stomach. He glanced down at his chest, to his son’s eyes who were staring up at him disapprovingly, but only resulted in him looking like a puppy. A very sick puppy at the moment and Tony couldn’t help but press a kiss to the top of his head.

“Here comes round two, buddy,” Tony said as he brought the spoon back up to Peter’s lips, this time a bit of the soup spilling out the side of Peter’s mouth as he slurped it up. Tony helped by grabbing one of the napkins he had the foresight to bring and gently dabbed at Peter’s chin where the soup had run off. This little moment catapulted him back years to the days of trying to feed a chubby, giggling one year old.

That seemed forever ago, but at the moment, it felt like nothing had changed from those days. Peter could no longer take care of himself because this illness had incapacitated him, but that was why Tony was there, to take care of him instead. Because that was what dads did for their babies and no matter what, Peter would always be his baby.


End file.
